by Paul Apachee
I work here on the fringe of ‘the music business’. Due to the position I find myself in I am often underwhelmed by live music – being saturated in it leads to a kind of “go on, try an impress me” type attitude when I go to gigs, where even good bands make me feel like I should have stayed at home in bed – but occasionally I witness a performance that truly excites me again. And last night at the Cambridge was one of those nights.
Ok I had heard some of her tunes, and knew about the opera training so I knew what to expect. Well, I thought I knew what to expect. I wasn’t expecting such a rocking band. I wasn’t expecting to be seduced by a voice that caresses you softly & slaps you in the face at the same time. I wasn’t expecting a John Farnham cover that brought the house down. I wasn’t expecting to get goosepimples from the simple magnitude of a woman singing.
I must confess I have gone from a guy with a mild interest in her quirky tunes & operatic bosom to a fully fledged fan (while still retaining an interest in her bosom).
She’s good. And you can tell that she knows she is good. But there isn’t what I would call an arrogance to her. Sure there’s a bit of haute, but she’s not showing off in the way that a South American soccer player might. I think that maybe she’s showing off not for her own aggrandizement, but for ours. And she does it with a cute smile on her face with tongue planted firmly in cheek.
Walking home from the show I had a thought that she didn’t sing like an angel. She sings like a fallen angel – on the surface all halos & white, but beneath it a mischievousness that does nothing if not make you adore her. And her taking the piss out of Idol & telling Marcia to shove it in song only serves to illustrate my point.
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